


Ruminate

by soredewa



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Sanc Kingdom, no kissing; no gundams, the Heero and Quatre Show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:47:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7792951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soredewa/pseuds/soredewa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the Sanc arc of the TV series.  Heero and Quatre continue not-to-fight each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruminate

Morning just breaking in the kingdom where they were refugees, as well as guests, and everything was quietly pale blue -- the sheets where Quatre opened his eyes; the curtains he parted; the sky and the sea outside, waiting for the golden light of further day.

A sea full of sunset and that sudden reminder of kindness; an afternoon in the downpour when they'd parted ways, briefly; and now... this.  
  
He crept back into bed, closed his eyes again in the warmth, then smiled.  He rotated ninety degrees, gazed fondly like he had at the sky and the water outside, and waited.  
  
A handful of heartbeats, and the night-blue eyes opened, steady and dark.  
  
"…You always do that," Quatre observed, sliding closer.  
  
"I can't do anything else."  Heero's smile was as faint as the light.  
  
"Good morning," Quatre continued, half-polite, half-teasing by formality.  _Morning of light,_ his mind echoed the Arabic response.  
  
Heero gazed over, content to stay quiet and still.  "Hi," he said, unexpectedly, and something inside Quatre felt like the dawn coming in the desert.  
  
It was bewildering, the depth of the peace they'd fallen into.  It extended so far as to let them share a bed, sleep quietly together, and wake up feeling nearly nothing but pleasure, but Quatre still knew it was glass, knew it could be shattered at any minute, any hour.  
  
Quatre thought he'd seldom been so happy in his life, and he wondered, too, if it wasn't a strange protection against guilt and grief.  
  
Heero sat up, abruptly, and shucked off his t-shirt, shaking Quatre from his reverie.  Before Quatre's blush had time to deepen, Heero had undone the buttons on Quatre's pajama top, pulled it off, and left him half-naked, in addition to speechless.  
  
Quatre was sure his eyes must be twice as big in a matter of seconds, and his tongue seemed to be lost somewhere in the piles of cloth.    
  
Heero nonchalantly pulled on Quatre's pajama top, doing up the buttons -- then pulled his own t-shirt over Quatre's head, leaving Quatre to mechanically sort himself back into the white piece of fabric.  
  
Quatre continued to blink, covered, then suddenly chuckled, feeling the inadvertent smile beam from his face like sunlight.  "...Why?"  
  
"Because."  
  
_Play,_ Quatre thought, memories of a distant sunset flooding through; laughter; guard dogs turned fond companions. 

He didn't know if it was some piece of Heero's urges or simply something Heero thought was good for him, but it was this sharp sweetness he felt, nearly all the time they were together.  
  
Quatre had a weakness for sweet things, but there was fierce heat and aridity and the frontier of Space running through his veins, and Heero, well, Heero had a surprisingly similar constitution, he seemed to be discovering.  Quatre flushed more, then, thinking how the warm piece of cotton had been even closer to Heero all night.  
  
But they were Gundam pilots; they needed to be daring and live by initiative.  
  
So, Quatre was calm; Quatre was bold; Quatre peeled the t-shirt back off and let the crumpled ball of fabric drop from his hand.  
  
"Not cold?" Heero inquired matter-of-factly as Quatre lay back down -- somewhat beside the point as Heero pulled the covers back over them both, and wrapped his own-pajama arms around him.  
  
"I can't be," Quatre said, battlefield-clear despite the peace, despite his pounding heart, the whirl of thoughts in his head and Heero's fingers touching his bare skin.  "Not with you."  
  
It was like the lightning he'd seen on Earth; how all the Maguanacs had said it could strike from nowhere.    
  
"I want to know what you say when I'm asleep."  
  
Quatre cringed, silently cursing his luck at Heero's extreme senses and not quite managing to suppress a moan.  Forget minute, forget hour -- his own tranquility had just instantly shattered.  The sharp edge of sweet, without a doubt.    
  
He sighed.  "Poems, Heero.  Not mine.  Someone else's."  
  
"Why are you doing it?"  
  
"I'm trying to sort out the things that I feel."  
  
He couldn't see Heero's face, like this.  Just his thoughtful voice; just his warm breath.  "Like your piano."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"But quieter."  
  
"I'm simply going to get up in the middle of the night and go play by myself from now on, I think."  (Would that spare him from this?)  
  
"Quatre.  If you do that, I'll be there."  
  
Part of Quatre wanted to sigh; part of him wanted to scream, just a little; part of him wanted to laugh.  (This _had_ to be the source of Duo's long, loud litany of complaints about Heero...!)  He settled for shaking his head, smiling broadly.  "I _know_ you will!"

"I like your voice saying them."   
  
Would he ever dare to ask just how many nights Heero had been listening...?  Quatre shifted, cautiously, risking a glance.  "…Farsi," he stated.  "I'll recite some the way I have, but I won't translate."  He'd been counting on Heero not even hearing; he'd have to rely on Heero not understanding.  "Sorry."  He sat up yet again, elbows wrapped around knees, trying to withdraw into a language where Heero didn't operate.

Two or three lines, then Quatre closed his eyes; somewhere in the midst of the next poem, or a further four or five, he opened his eyes; blushed, continued, then finally, he abruptly switched languages.    
  
_"That's how you came here, like a star_  
_without a name.  Move across the night sky_  
_with those anonymous lights."_  
  
Heero stared and stared with his own hidden-star eyes, then gave a nod; poetry might have been foreign to him in any language, but this seemed perfectly clear.  
  
"Keep going."  
  
Quatre blushed and startled and smiled (and figured he really didn't need to keep track of how many times he'd already gone through the cycle this morning).  "Must I?"  
  
Heero stretched out his hand and tugged him back down.  Things were warm, again, surrounded by his pajama flannel with Heero's other hand against the back of his head.  Quatre relaxed, closed his eyes, kept smiling.  Their breathing fell in sync.  Things were quiet.  Things were calm.  
  
"You want to take a shower?"    
  
Despite his open mouth, Quatre was fairly sure nothing had fallen out.  How could his body have turned to ice in such warmth?  "…Heero."  
  
Not play.  "Then go take one."  Straightforward 01.  
  
Wordlessly, Quatre stumbled out of bed and fled to the escape of the bathroom, manfully resisting the urge to fling his pajama bottoms in Heero's face. (Duo would have done _that,_ but Duo would also have screamed and cursed and put a vastly different significance on showing that part of himself to Heero…)    
  
All he looked forward to was some solitude and a locked door to start the rest of the day, and yet Quatre wasn't sure whether the water he wanted to dive into was cold or heated.

 

Heero smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Quatre's poem (and probably everything he recites in the middle of the night) is by Rumi, mystic who wrote very beautifully. (Probably not coincidentally, Rumi found himself in a sudden, similarly intense same-sex relationship that history hasn't quite managed to define.) 
> 
> Quatre needs the poetry to gauge whether he's in love, what can I say. :)


End file.
